


Unexpected

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-27
Updated: 2010-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something decidedly strange about Sam’s soul. Crowley is determined to figure out what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

There’s something vexing about Sam’s soul. Crowley is, by turns, intrigued by it and bothered by it, depending on the time of day and his mood. He’s held a lot of souls over the years, had thought he’d seen everything there was to see about each and every one of them. But this…this is something new.

At first glance, Sam’s soul is like so many others. Warm, glowing, and colorful (Sam’s appears mostly in shades of violet, which is rare, but not unheard of) – but dig a little deeper, and there’s something… _clinging_ to it. Whatever it is, it’s bright, and it’s purer than any human soul has ever been, and when he pokes at it, there’s something like music, if music had the power to burn and seethe and tear at him like so many digging claws.

If Crowley knew what it was, it wouldn’t be a problem, because he could find a way to contain it, separate it from the soul in his possession, bottle it up and destroy it even. But he doesn’t have the slightest clue what it could be, and so instead, he tries to ignore it.

But his curiosity has always been a curse, and eventually, he _has_ to know. So he starts poking at it more. Starts slicing at it, trying to cut it from Sam’s soul. It hurts, every time he gets too close, leaves burns across his borrowed skin and a pounding headache behind his eyes, but he grits his teeth and keeps going, because this soul is _his_ , damn it, and he’ll be damned thrice over before he lets some cheeky ball of light get the best of him.

It goes like this for several weeks, before, after one particularly brutal encounter with the… _thing_ …Crowley is nursing a burnt hand and a new dent to his pride, and a decidedly unwelcome – not to mention _shocking_ – voice pipes up.

“You’d think you’d have learned by now.”

Crowley…doesn’t _yelp_ , but he does let out an admittedly unmanly sound when he spins around to face the intruder to his personal domain (a spacious villa in the south of France), and finds himself face-to-face with an archangel.

A _dead_ archangel, no less.

“Children shouldn’t be allowed play with things they don’t understand.” Gabriel reaches out, and Sam’s soul floats over to him, hovering just above his palm, before Crowley can begin to form a single coherent thought. Some unfathomable emotion enters the archangel’s eyes as he watches the soul pulse and shine with light, the maddening, incomprehensible energy still attached to it, plain as day.

Unfortunately, Crowley’s beginning to understand what that energy actually _is_ , and he swallows a little at how very lucky he is to still be alive right now.

Gabriel’s lips quirk as he undoubtedly picks up on the thought. “Suppose I should thank you for keeping an eye on this while I was…patching myself up,” he says, his gaze still on Sam’s too-bright soul. “But really, I’m not much in the mood. So I’m just gonna take this and be on my way, alrighty?”

Crowley wants to step forward, wants to rip the soul from Gabriel’s grasp and growl that it’s _his_ , damn it, and that he’s keeping until it damn well suits his purposes to give it back, but…

Well, he’s not suicidal. And apparently, the soul was _never_ in his possession, not truly.

Bloody hell, and this is going to put a serious damper on his plans, isn’t it? He scowls, but doesn’t make a move to stop the archangel.

Gabriel smirks again, wings unfurling. Just before he takes off, his eyes flash, and Crowley takes an involuntary step back. “Just so you know, Crowley, the only reason I’m not leaving you a pile of dust right now is because I owe you one for helping them, your motivation notwithstanding. But so we’re clear, you come near either of the Winchesters again? And I’m not letting a pesky thing like _gratitude_ stop me.”

And then he winks, blows Crowley a kiss, and is gone, and Crowley…

Crowley sinks down into a chair, conjures a large glass of scotch, and grits out a very eloquent, “ _Balls_.”

-  



End file.
